


"Los Angeles, You're All Right"

by dovingbird



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Open Relationships, Rating to increase as story continues, Self-Esteem Issues, Verbal Confrontation, smooches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dude, I'm serious, one of these days you're gonna kiss me just fucking right square on the mouth, and it's gonna be the funniest fucking thing."</p><p>"Yeah? Why's it gonna be so funny?"</p><p>"You're such a little asskisser, always playing shit up on camera or whatever, but nothing ever comes out of it, does it? Just a pretty little act."</p><p>"You pouting about that, Geoff?” he asks, lifting his chin like he's about to start posturing. “You throwing a fit?"</p><p>"Oh, I'm gonna have a goddamn tantrum."</p><p>--</p><p>It takes one kiss in L.A. to make Michael question his relationship with Geoff, one fight with Lindsay to make him want to take it all back, and one surprise from the both of them to see that things are not as clear as they seem. As Michael and Lindsay feel their way through feelings that they never identified before now, all they can hope is they don't screw up everything in their marriage just for a little exploration with the one man that's got both their all heads stirred up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“What could I get you?”  
  
“Yeah, uh, Hendricks and tonic on the rocks, tall Yuengling, thanks.”  
  
“Coming right up.”  
  
Michael nods and puts his ID away, turning to lean back against the bar, facing the breeze. It's different down here in L.A. somehow, like every little burst of wind is carrying some sea salt straight to his nose. It's fucking incredible. Half of the city he can't smell anything but cars, and the other half it's nothing but ocean. Makes no goddamn sense, but hey, he's all here for it, especially since he and Geoff managed to score a hotel where all he can smell is sand and saltwater even though they're still a few miles away from any kind of ocean.  
  
Not a bad night, though. Not at all. It's been a long day of trying to get Geoff through L.A. traffic since he still somehow knew how to get to FH's fucking office, then a long few hours of being on his game and performing as per usual, and then even longer being stuck in fucking rush hour traffic that was somehow worse than even Austin's. But now? Now it's over. Now he can relax with a good cold bev or two and shoot the shit with Geoff.  
  
Seriously, there's worse people to be stuck in Los Angeles with. Geoff's a goddamn funny man, and he actually seems to like being around Michael. Doesn't get annoyed by him, actually listens to what he has to say even if it's not about Always Sunny or whatever. He's not exhausting like Gavin can be, but he's not a stick in the mud like Jack sometimes is. He's just...it's a nice balance, and Michael'd be lying if he said he didn't like spending as much time around him as he could.  
  
He glances over at the man in question, and for a moment he just...stares. Geoff's leaning lazily back against a counter of the nice little outdoor lounge and bar that their hotel has, and he's looking up at the stars. For the first time all day – hell, maybe all _week_ – he's not moving around and getting shit done. He's just...relaxed. Chilling out. It's kind of nice to see. The man works his ass off, as effortless as he tries to make it seem in every video they do, and he fucking deserves something like this, more a working vacation than anything.  
  
Like, he's pretty sure he'd never say that shit unless they were being filmed and he could play it off as just another little brownnosing act, but hell, it's true.  
  
“Here you go, sir.”  
  
He glances over his shoulder at the bartender and nods. “Thanks, man.” He goes to pick up the drinks but looks over at Geoff one more time, hesitating. He's not really sure what drives him – documenting memories like a fucking scrapbook or the fact that he's been quiet on Twitter for a little bit today or just that he's got a really goddamn nice angle here – but for whatever reason he pulls out his phone. Starts up the camera app and studies the angle through the screen, cocking his head to the side. Not bad. So he snaps the photo. Uploads it to Twitter. Hesitates for a long moment before he adds his caption.  
  
_Los Angeles, you're all right._  
  
He stops analyzing everything then, knows his brain might take off like a shot and legitimately just doesn't have the energy for it anymore. No, he just grabs the drinks and wanders over to Geoff, passing over the little tumbler to him as he circles around and leans into the counter next to him.  
  
“Thanks, buddy.”  
  
“Yep, anytime.”  
  
Geoff takes a sip and hums out a soft sound of contentment before he glances over and chuckles. “What'd you get, a fucking beer? What is that...” He cranes his neck until he's seeing it through the light, and Michael fights a smile, helpfully tilts the glass for him to see the color of the brew and compare it to what he can see that they have on tap. “...is that a fucking Yuengling, really? C'mon, Michael, be a fucking man, drink something decent.”  
  
“I'm not getting pissed the fucking first night we get here, Jesus.” He pats his pocket. “My wallet can't take that shit. Gotta go slow, build up.”  
  
Geoff rolls his eyes, slow and overexaggerated and paired with a heavy sigh. “Not like you can hold your drink very long either, you little lightweight.”  
  
“Well, not all of us can have an iron belly, can we?” He leans closer and nudges their shoulders together just enough to unbalance him a little. “C'mon, Geoff, show me how to hold my alcohol, do it,” he teases, already feeling a smile prick at the corners of his mouth.  
  
Geoff laughs. “There's no way to teach that, buddy. I've seen you at Extra Life. You're drunk in a fucking hour, tops.  
  
“Hey, that's just good comedy there,” he says as he points at him. “Look at the numbers this year. Promise they go right through the goddamn roof the second I'm plastered.”  
  
“I'll hold you to that,” he shoots back. He takes a long sip of his gin and tonic before he chuckles again and shakes his head. “Maybe I won't be around when it happens. Think you're a little dangerous when you get drunk off your ass.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Michael snaps. “Why's that?”  
  
“You lose all your goddamn boundaries. Suddenly you're rolling around on the floor, climbing in laps, trying to get Gavin to kiss you or Kovic to feel you up, fuck, I don't know. I mean, it's dangerous enough for me being around you when you're _sober._ ”  
  
“Oh, shut the hell up.” He grins at him. “You don't know what you're talking about.”  
  
"Dude, I'm serious, one of these days you're gonna kiss me just fucking right square on the mouth, and it's gonna be the funniest fucking thing."  
  
"Yeah? Why's it gonna be so funny?"  
  
"You're such a little asskisser, always playing shit up on camera or whatever, but nothing ever comes out of it, does it? Just a pretty little act."  
  
"You pouting about that, Geoff?” he asks, lifting his chin like he's about to start posturing. “You throwing a fit?"  
  
"Oh, I'm gonna have a goddamn tantrum."  
  
"I'll bet. You that jealous I haven't kissed you yet? You want it that bad?"  
  
And it's all in play, just banter, just rubbing shoulders with his boss and building on his shit year after year. It's all just a flurry of adrenaline as they play and see who's gonna trip up first. But it doesn't change the fact that Geoff's suddenly looking over at him with his languid eyes and a lazy grin and softly saying "Oh, you know it. One of these days you're gonna give in and put your money where your mouth is, and I'm just counting the motherfucking days."  
  
And for a moment Michael feels his feet lose the ground, knows he's lost the bantering flow, and he takes just a few seconds too long trying to figure out where he was going with that.  
  
He doesn't get there, though. Not when Geoff's shrugging away the silence and looking away, leading again with "Anyway, sounds to me like you're the one that's disappointed. You waiting for me to make the first move?"  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
"Seriously, 'cuz Michael, I gotta tell you, I'm an old fucking man now, I don't have the energy to be making all the moves or whatever before I've had my eight cups of coffee."  
  
"What makes it sound like I'm disappointed?"  
  
"I dunno, let's see, you gonna let it go?" he snarks.  
  
Silence. Michael hesitates a long few moments, almost enough for the subject to be closed, before he lifts his drink to his lips and speaks around the rim before he sips. "I mean, we could sell tickets for when our wives inevitably kill us after this supposed little lip lock, so..."  
  
"Hell of a way to fundraise."  
  
"Right? Beats acting like a two-year-old for twenty-four straight hours."  
  
There's absolutely no hesitation when Geoff follows his comment with "You don't really think they'd give a shit, do you?"  
  
The words are so casually said yet so out of left field that Michael immediately looks at him again. His beer is sweating between his fingers in the Los Angeles humidity but he still feels a chill float down his spine, following an electric zing that he only registers after it's over. "I mean...I'm pretty sure Griffon could pull my spine out through my throat."  
  
Geoff laughs. He's still staring over the pool, leaning back against the countertop, a soft breeze tugging at his loose t-shirt. Completely unconcerned. "Yeah, you're right, sure as hell doesn't need her chainsaw to wreck you." Completely casual. "She's a scary woman. God, I love her." Completely normal. And just as Michael's starting to relax again Geoff shrugs. "Think the only reason she'd get pissed about it is if she didn't get to watch, though."  
  
Yep, that does it, suddenly he's choking on his drink and leaning over having a fucking coughing fit like a goddamn kid, and Geoff gives him a few whacks on the back like that's gonna settle him, like his eyes aren't burning and watering and his heart isn't pounding from having just almost died from choking on a fucking _draft beer,_ of all things.  
  
"You okay there, buddy?" Geoff asks, eyes wide.  
  
Michael takes a few thick breaths, clearing his throat one last time, before he blinks. "Geoff, what the fuck?"  
  
The second Geoff realizes he's not gonna die or whatever he's laughing, fucking howling like it's not super late and people aren't trying to sleep in the balconies across the way. "Holy shit, Michael, you goddamn idiot-"  
  
"Geoff!" he tries again. "What the fuck?!"  
  
"The hell are you in such a tizzy about?" Geoff asks, still grinning ear to ear, reaching to take Michael's drink from him and give him a firm rub across the back with his other hand, the touch hot yet steady. " _You're_ the one who can't drink a goddamn _Yuengling_ without dying, of all things, shit, you'd probably burst into flames just taking a _whiff_ of this Hendricks and-" Geoff ends up trailing off as Michael stares at him, not laughing, not joining in the joke for once. He wrinkles his brow. "What the hell are you looking at me like that for?"  
  
Does he not realize what he said? Was he not thinking when he basically just looked at Michael and said " _Y'know, if you ever wanna kiss me, just do it at Griffon's next Game of Thrones party and make sure you drag me over right in front of her so she's got the best view in the house, whatever_ "? He actually stammers for a minute, thrown off his game all over again. "Y-you just...only in front of Griffon, Geoff? Really?"  
  
Confusion sets over his face. "I mean...it was a _joke,_ Michael. Jokes. You know what those are, right? Like, we literally make a living with them?"  
  
Something inside him sinks, and he elbows it aside as he reaches to take his beer back from Geoff. "Oh, is _that_ what we get paid for?"  
  
"It's sure as fuck not playing video games."  
  
"That's for goddamn sure."  
  
Geoff isn't letting his drink go, that's the first thing he realizes. The condensation makes his fingers slip as he tries to get a hold of it without touching his hand, but Geoff holds firm, tattoos dark against his skin in the low light from the bar behind them. And when Michael meets his eyes again Geoff is smiling ever so slightly, just a little twitch of the corner of his lips. "Still. If you ever change your mind..."  
  
What the fuck is he doing? Staring at Geoff, at the man who's somehow managed to be one of his best friends and his boss and his mentor and so many other things all wrapped up in one sleepy little alcoholic package? His tongue feels a little too heavy to respond. But as he moves his fingers slightly to get a better hold on his glass, finally colliding with Geoff's with a shock, he feels the cold metal of his own wedding band on the glass and sucks in a sharp breath, pulling back. "Yeah, okay, I don't know what little fantasy world you get to live in where you get to kiss everybody that looks at you or whatever, but Lindsay? Remember her? My wife? Yeah, not a big fan of that shit. And I'm sort of committed and all? Signed a contract and everything."  
  
Geoff chuckles again. He finally sets Michael's beer down between them, nudging it across until it's almost touching his hip. "Y'know, I don't think she'd give a shit, but hey, suit yourself." He tilts his own drink back and sucks it down to the dregs, letting a few of the ice cubes slide between his lips to crunch, before he rustles a hand through his hair. "Shit, I'm getting tired. Still gotta call Griffon too before I pass out. Think I might head back up to the room." His eyes land on Michael's again. "That okay with you?"  
  
Does it fucking matter? Since when does Michael get a say in his schedule or his habits or whatever? He stares a second too long and blinks. "I mean, if you're asking if you need to hold my hand so I can find the fucking hotel room or whatever I'm pretty sure I'll be fine. Not as drunk as some of us apparently are."  
  
"Asshole." It's soft and companionable the way he says it, like he's had just a few too many gin and tonics instead of just the one. Suddenly he's reaching over to rub his hand over Michael's back one last firm time before he hops up. "Don't choke on your fucking drink again, kid."  
  
"Whatever, Dad, I do what I want."  
  
Geoff eyes him for a moment over his shoulder with a smirk before he shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking down at the screen. Michael watches him maybe just a little too long as he wanders off, hand ruffling his hair, until his voice finally picks up and says hello to Griffon. Only then does he grab his beer and take a nice long drink of it, staring at the pool.  
  
Okay. So. He said it was a joke. They were just joking around. They're _always_ just joking around. So why the fuck is it still sitting so heavy at the front of his brain?  
  
Like, is Geoff even a good kisser? He's gotta be, right? He's got a fucking babe like Griffon on his arm, so he can't suck that bad at it. He tilts his head back and looks up at the stars for a moment, thinking of every time he's seen him press his lips to Griffon's. The way he'd lace his fingers through her hair at the crown of her head. The way he'd touch a hand to her hip to pull her just a step closer. The slight tilt of Griffon's lips into a smirk every time that she realized his goal. But they're not too into PDA, honestly, and that means his thought experiment has pretty limited material to draw from. Sure, Michael's seen them share some heated glances across a room at one of their parties or seen them snuggle on a couch, but not much more than that.  
  
He's pretty sure he's only seen them make out one time, actually. It was seven hours into one of their parties, the immense ones that literally everyone from the goddamn company was invited to, getting late enough that the drinks were pretty much drained and the music was starting to suck and the lightweights were starting to taper on home. He remembers heading off to take a leak, making his way down their hall to the guest bathroom, and hearing a soft sound from their little study right off the hall, where the door was halfway shut.  
  
The first thing he thought was that apparently Barbara and Aaron had snuck off to make out. Somehow it seemed to make more sense than anything else with the blinding blonde hair and the low lighting and the positioning and whatever the hell else. But then...they had shifted slightly, ever so slightly, as a tattooed hand brushed over a waistband, and he'd realized in a rush exactly who he was seeing sprawled out on the futon. Geoff and Griffon, they'd fit together so intimately, one of her legs hooked around his waist, one of his hands pressed into the back of the futon to hold him above her as the other disappeared under her shirt. He remembers hearing Griffon laugh against his lips as bubbly as a soda followed by a low whining sort of drawl from Geoff just before she took the upper hand and slinked around him as gracefully as a cat until she was tall and proud in his lap and kissing him all over again.  
  
He remembers digging his fingers into the doorframe, trying to blink away the drunken haze, trying to remember how his fucking _legs_ worked even, but he also remembers the sheer visceral punch in the gut when Griffon purred a soft sort of moan as Geoff's hand finally came to a stop under her shirt, cupping and thumbing at something. Hell, he's pretty sure his skin caught on fire as she tilted her head back and Geoff pressed his lips to her neck without hesitation, like they were doing a dance that they'd been doing for years. They _were,_ he'd realized, had that innate sense of knowing each other's bodies that Michael was still figuring out with Lindsay, but they both sure as hell looked like he knew what they were doing.  
  
Was it only effortless for Geoff with Griffon, Michael suddenly wonders, or is it something that would carry over to other people? And is he _allowed_ to carry it over to other people, or...?  
  
It's actually sort of funny to think about how at that party Michael hadn't even been the strong one who could remind himself to turn and walk away. No, it'd been hearing a soft sound behind him, meeting Gavin's eyes as he came around the corner and softly asked “'Sup, boi?” and having to scramble to find an excuse for why he'd gotten sidetracked looking for the bathroom. Hadn't been too hard, given all the booze he'd drank that night, but still, wasn't he better than that? Better than watching some married couple making out in the privacy of their own home? Better than sort of wanting to keep watching and see what happened next? Better than being vaguely upset that when he passed the study heading back to the living room that the door was now shut tight?  
  
But why had he even wanted to see? It's one thing to be a moderate porn enthusiast, he knows that, and another thing entirely to be curious about watching your boss and his wife fuck on their couch. Griffon was a fucking babe, yeah, but Geoff...  
  
What _about_ Geoff?  
  
He takes another long drink of his beer and drains it to a bare bit of foam, then sets it on the counter, drumming his fingers against the cool glass in a steady, methodical pace. It takes a moment before he really lets himself think. It's like he's fighting through cotton and spiderwebs, like the threads he's pulling at have been weak for years. Like the gap he's opening up has always sort of been there, maybe.  
  
Geoff. Asshole extraordinaire. Born leader. Giant heart. Father of about seventeen to twenty people, if his understated but affectionate actions and words to his employees and co-workers mean anything. Sassy, snarky, and strong. One of Michael's favorite people to be around, the man he's constantly looking at for approval even though he'd be embarrassed to shit to admit it to maybe anybody but Lindsay, who sometimes looks at the physical closeness that he and Gavin have and how they can throw each other around without hesitation and feels maybe just a tiny bit jealous.  
  
He pushes the thought experiment further. Thinks of Geoff's tattooed hand warm against the back of his chair, so close to his shoulder. The low lilt of his voice when he drops his tone conspiratorially. His dark smirk right when he's about to pounce on Gavin and his high-pitched laugh when one of his evil plans succeed. The strength of his arms when he gives Michael a hug or lifts Gavin into the air like he's nothing but a sack of flour.  
  
It's...not _unappealing,_ that's for sure.  
  
“Last call, sir.”  
  
The bartender's voice startles him, and he looks over his shoulder, blinks a few times before he realizes what he said, then shakes his head. “Nah, I'm good, man, thanks.” He fishes out a few bills to cover the tab and slides them over, waving off the tip he left as well, and heads slowly toward the hotel with his hands in his pockets, glancing up at the balcony he knows is just off their room, where it's lit up and he can ever so faintly see Geoff slowly pacing back and forth, phone probably still pressed to his ear.  
  
Something in his gut kicks up, filled to the brim with adrenaline, and he pulls out his phone on instinct, fingers flying into a text to Lindsay. _”So if I told you I was gonna kiss Geoff, what would you say?”_  
  
He immediately regrets sending it, starts rubbing the back of his neck and pacing right at the door of the hotel with his heart pounding in his ears, because who the fuck sends something like that? Who the hell asks their wife if they can kiss somebody else? Like, it doesn't fucking matter that it's a dude – it's fucking _Geoff,_ he could be an anthropomorphic alien thing and he'd _still_ probably be curious – he still has this goddamn wedding ring on, and he loves Lindsay more than anything that moves or breathes or exists, and he's...what? Just entertaining this idle little curiosity about what the guy tastes like?  
  
Where does he get off even thinking that he can have something perfect like he has now and yet have these little flights of fucking fantasy too? What's next, asking if he can kiss Meg just to see how different it is from Lindsay? Hell, he didn't even ask, he just...he _just..._  
  
He unlocks his phone again, heart in his throat, but as soon as he's got the text up the phone's vibrating in his hand with a response. _”Get in on film, duh! Hella RT Life, you kidding me?”_  
  
_Shit._  
  
He licks his lips and turns in a complete circle, hands laced around his phone behind his head, then takes a deep breath as he comes to a dead stop.  
  
Just.  
  
Okay.  
  
Is he gonna do this?  
  
Fuck that, is there any possible universe out there that he _wouldn't_ do this now that he has permission?  
  
He's not gonna analyze that thought too deeply. Not when all his thinking hasn't gotten him anywhere but confused so far. No, he's just gonna pocket his phone and swipe his key card to get in the hotel's back door and take the stairs instead of the elevator so he can feel the burn of his thighs as he takes the steps nice and slow and two at a time, so it can match the buzz of his brain and the tingling in his fingertips.  
  
He's gonna make his every step down the hallway all nice and methodical and pause outside their door. He's gonna pull out his phone. He's gonna put it on Do Not Disturb. And then he's gonna come inside.  
  
Geoff's brushing his teeth while watching TV, and he turns his head, gives a little chin pop when he sees Michael. “'Sup?” The word's thick with the foam in his mouth, and he moves past him into their bathroom to spit it out, apparently not even needing a response. Okay, that's cool. Michael toes off his shoes and makes his way a little further in, tucking his phone under his bed's pillow. He stares sort of vaguely at the wall. Just. Sits. Yeah. This is real damn productive, isn't it, just scrunching up a little fistful of comforter and tapping his feet restlessly on the floor.  
  
When Geoff wanders back into the room in thin pajama bottoms and the same t-shirt he was wearing all day he just silently turns off the TV and climbs onto his bed with a huff. “Man, I'm gonna pass right the fuck out. Didn't sleep for shit last night.”  
  
“Mm.” Michael looks over at where he's facefirst in the pillow and quirks an eyebrow. “You set an alarm for tomorrow?”  
  
Silence. “...fuck.” There's some fumbling for Geoff's phone on the nightstand and a loud sigh.  
  
Okay, so. Should he just...or should...maybe...? He can't grab a hold of a thought, just feels the little tendrils rushing through his fingers. Maybe he should just...not do this? Geoff's apparently fucking exhausted and he's gotta try to get to sleep sometime soon – goddamn time zone change – and they've gotta get up early as shit, so...yeah. Maybe that's a better idea. Michael sighs himself, just as long and hard as Geoff's, as he stands up and starts rifling through his suitcase to find his pajama pants.  
  
“Everything okay, buddy?”  
  
Goddammit. Michael swallows and shrugs. “Yeah, y'know, whatever.” Clears his throat. “Ready to see the guys again tomorrow.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
He glances over his shoulder at Geoff and meets his eyes. “What?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
He narrows his eyes a little. “...you sure?”  
  
“Just, y'know. Sounds like you're maybe not saying everything or whatever.”  
  
“What does it sound like I'm maybe not saying, Geoff?”  
  
He flops onto his back and tucks his arms behind his neck. “Hell if I know.”  
  
“Okay then.” They just stare at each other for a long few moments before Michael breaks the contact first and hears a little huff of a laugh from Geoff's bed in response. Ass. Michael tugs his shirt off and drapes it over the back of their desk chair, trying to figure out if he's gonna let it lie, let Geoff win the unspoken battle. Nope. Fuck that. Mogar lays down for nobody. “Have a good talk with Griffon?”  
  
“Yeah, y'know, got all sappy and gross, had a vigorous round of phone sex, the usual shit.”  
  
Michael rolls his eyes because if he keeps staring at the pajama pants he's trying to choose between he's pretty sure he'll just see a dark room and two bodies moving perfectly together on a futon. “Nice. You tell her you're goading all your employees into kissing you now?”  
  
“What, _all_ of them? Michael, please, I'm not _that_ kind of slut.”  
  
“What other kind is there?”  
  
“I mean, I may like getting laid, sure, but I don't just cast out the same line to _everybody._ You know how boring that'd be?”  
  
Michael breathes a little laugh. “Nice. I'm flattered. I'm the only one you're trying to kiss. Who's got the dick you're trying to suck, Ryan?”  
  
“Why?” Geoff snaps back immediately, and they're off to the fucking races. “You wanna watch?”  
  
“I mean, I'd offer to hold your hair back, but that's not gonna be much of an issue.”  
  
“Guess you're just gonna have to stand in the corner and jerk it, then, right?”  
  
Michael finally looks at him again with a grin, shaking his head. “I'm not gonna miss all the fucking fun, you kidding me?”  
  
That's all it takes to make Geoff laugh too, and he rests one of his hands on his slightly rounded belly. “That's my boy. Knew I could count on you.”  
  
It's such a silly thing, but just those tiny words of praise are enough to bolster Michael's courage. He hesitates before tossing his pajama pants back into his suitcase and crossing his arms over his chest, making himself hold Geoff's gaze like they're on camera or something, like he's performing. “So, question.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“That kiss.”  
  
Geoff quirks a brow. “Yeah?”  
  
“The one I'm apparently just gonna give in and do one day just to put my money where my mouth is or whatever.”  
  
“Yeaaah?”  
  
“Maybe got the clearance from Linds for that tonight.”  
  
He laughs and shakes his head. “Incredible. She didn't fight you at all, did she?”  
  
“Nope.” He shrugs. “Congrats, Geoff, you know my wife better than I do, we'll throw a fucking parade for you.”  
  
“Sweet.” It's the tattoos on his hands that catch Michael's eyes again when Geoff starts slowly tracing a pattern over his own stomach where he lays. “Now it's just a countdown.”  
  
“To when it happens?”  
  
“Yep. We might have to put up a counter on the site, see how many days in we get. There'll be a cake and shit, it's gonna be fucking amazing.”  
  
“Oh, hell no,” Michael says, “there's no fucking way it's happening in front of everybody, you kidding me?”  
  
“Well, why the fuck not?”  
  
“You think they're not gonna all start lining up for a little piece of Michael? They see me kissing you, they're gonna think I'm easy, and lemme tell you, I don't kiss just _anybody._ ”  
  
“Ooh, so I'm special?” Geoff teases with another lazy smirk.  
  
“Don't let it go to your fucking head, Jesus.”  
  
He chuckles. “Nah, I think it will. I think I'm gonna start strutting around like I'm a kid again. Look at me, somebody wants this sweet piece of ass, hell yes.”  
  
And because all the energy's been building up inside of him the past ninety seconds or whatever Michael shakes his head and takes a few steps across the room. “Look, if I get it over with now, are you gonna fucking shut up?”  
  
Geoff flicks his eyes over every inch of Michael, just a quick perusal from head to toe. “No guarantees.”  
  
“Don't be a bastard.” But he hesitates when he gets to the side of the bed, feeling that energy crest up in a wave that he's not quite sure what to do with. “So.”  
  
Geoff leans up on his elbows. “C'mon. You gonna put your money where your mouth is?”  
  
Son of a bitch. He just decides yeah, okay, balls to it, and climbs onto the bed with him, throwing a leg over his hip and leaning down until he's resting on his elbows, his bare chest pressed against Geoff's t-shirt, his hips still carefully elevated. The air immediately whirls into something different, something thick and sticky in his throat, and he silently glances down Geoff's face, biting his bottom lip for just a second, just enough to catch his breath.  
  
Geoff's hand lands on the small of his back, his fingers calloused, his palm way too fucking hot to handle, and Michael stares at his lips for a moment, wonders at how the smirk drops off of them, before he sucks in a deep breath and leans down to kiss him.  
  
There's no awkward long moment where nothing's happening. There's no figuring out who's gonna take charge. No, the second Michael's in his space Geoff tilts his head to the side and gently works his mouth against Michael's, a languid parting of his lips and a slow shutting all over again. He tastes sharply of spearmint, of gin, of hot sunshine and tattoo parlors and smoky bars and _fuck,_ Michael doesn't stop at one kiss, who the fuck'd be able to do something like that? Like, he's not gonna right out say he's addicted, but the facts remain that he sucks a sharp breath through his nose and touches a hand to Geoff's shoulder and leans in to kiss him all the more.  
  
It's not rushed, really, and it's fucking nice not to be just hurrying toward the finish line. Even when he feels the adrenaline kicking up in his stomach and urging him forward, Geoff just murmurs a soft sound against his lips and forces him to keep the same easy pace when he touches his other hand to his jaw. It's sharp and visceral, reminding Michael of the warmth of Lindsay's cheeks between his hands when he leans to kiss her every time, and suddenly his heart is hammering in his chest and blood is rushing everywhere in his body.  
  
He's not really sure when it goes from an experimental kiss to a languid make-out session, but it's probably somewhere around when he gets lazy about keeping his hips in the sky and drops them and feels the slight thickness of Geoff's hardening cock through his pants. Shit. Michael doesn't mean to shift closer, but he does, and that's all it takes to get his own slowly-growing boner noticed too. He makes a quiet noise and Geoff answers in the affirmative, just a little moan of his own.  
  
He realizes maybe just a little too late that he didn't exactly plan a way to get out of this, probably because he didn't really think about where it was gonna stop. And now his brain is sluggish and warm and all too pleased to be where it is, and...  
  
Shit, he's fucked. He's so utterly fucked.  
  
The hand on his face creeps up to his hair, fingers tangling in it, and then Geoff is applying just a faint amount of pressure to the small of his back, more and more and more until their hips are flush against each other, until little lightning bolts are shooting straight into Michael's cock, and that does it. He breaks away with a gasp and buries his face in Geoff's stubbly neck, trying to catch his breath. The second he fights Geoff's hand he feels it slip away, and he's back with his ass in the air, that blessed bit of space between their dicks, just a little extra help for him to get his head on straight.  
  
“Shit,” Michael breathes.  
  
Geoff hums, tracing one of his hands soothingly up and down one of his arms in response.  
  
It takes a few more seconds of silence, but then Michael's finding his words again. “The hell was that, Geoff?”  
  
“I don't fucking know,” he replies, “an invitation?”  
  
“I said a-a kiss, not a goddamn...I just... _wow._ ”  
  
Geoff catches his chin and turns Michael's head until he's looking him in the eye, eyebrows furrowed, and the action's so intimate that he doesn't even fucking know how to respond, like? And then Geoff shakes his head. “I mean, I'm sorry if you're fucking uncomfortable or whatever, but I'm not sorry I did it?”  
  
“The hell does that mean?” he asks.  
  
Geoff shrugs. “May be a surprise, but you're not exactly the first person I've hooked up with from the office? Figured I might as well just get the initial offer out there. Fuck just waiting around for the right moment or whatever. Too old, remember?”  
  
Okay, first off all that was total bullshit because he'd clearly waited until they were in a state two fucking timezones away from home and all alone before starting to goad him into this, and second of all that just explained everything didn't it? How casual he was about everything. Absolutely unconcerned. Michael wasn't the first, he wasn't the only, he wasn't anything, he was just next in a long string of people that Geoff apparently got semi-hard over and decided to do something about it. He rolls off of Geoff and rests his arm over his forehead, jaw clenching. “Wow. Lucky you. Who are you fucking?”  
  
“Hey, hold on, that's for them to say, not me. Don't get your panties in a wad.”  
  
Michael scoffs and rubs at his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”  
  
Silence. Maybe Geoff's big mouth has finally given up now that he's gotten what he wanted? Maybe that's it? Either way Michael can't stand to be on the same bed with him anymore for some reason. He sits up and scoots to the edge, back to him, gripping the edge of the mattress for all he's worth. “...and like...Griffon's seriously okay with it? Is she hooking up with people too or what?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess she is. I mean, it's her life, y'know?”  
  
“It's yours too, though, I mean, you're fucking _married_ to her, so...”  
  
“Sure, but that doesn't mean we're like getting together and rating all our partners or whatever.” He can practically hear the shrug. “I trust her, she trusts me, sometimes we talk about it, sometimes we don't...”  
  
“Wow.” That's all he can say for a moment, just sitting there feeling almost tangible bitterness in his stomach, feeling all that energy in his muscles that's gone sour now. “Wow. Y'know, I gotta say, I don't think I could ever do that. Or watch Lindsay do it. It's just...I don't know, I'm committed to her.”  
  
Geoff chuckles softly. “All right, Michael.”  
  
He whips his head around. “What?”  
  
Geoff's rolled over onto his side, hand propping up his head, and he grins at him. “You just kissed your married boss for no reason. Where'd that commitment go when you did that?”  
  
Suddenly he's on his feet and going straight for his shirt. “Oh, go fuck yourself,” he snaps, whipping his shirt back on. “God, you're such an asshole sometimes, I can see where the fuck Gavin gets it.”  
  
“C'mon, Michael, where're you going, it's fucking one in the morning, we've gotta work tomorrow-”  
  
Michael answers with nothing but his middle finger flying up behind his back just before he opens the door and storms outside.  
  
Yeah, that's fucking right, Geoff, take that parting shot. Shove that finger up your ass. Go back to your fucking harem at work and have a nice big orgy if you're pissed, it'll get you over that real fast, won't it? You're probably drunk. You're probably forget this all fucking happened tomorrow. You'll forget all about Michael and just how much he wanted to kiss you because he's just one of thirty billion in a long line of kisses you're gonna get and just.  
  
He makes it all the way down to the lobby and throws himself into one of the plushy chairs there, staring unseeingly at the wall. His hands won't stop clenching into fists and his jaw is fucking tight and he just...  
  
Lindsay's face swims before his eyes, and for a second he wants to laugh at just how pissed off he is because what the fuck is this shit? The hell is he feeling so upset about? He's got Lindsay. Geoff is just his boss, and he sure as hell won't be the last boss he ever has. This is just one of those memories he's gonna roll his eyes at later and mutter about how goddamn stupid he was for even talking himself into it. Just another joke for them to hint at and riff on and make their viewers build ridiculous theories about.  
  
And yeah, that's all logical and whatever, but his chest is still killing him.  
  
Son of a bitch. He tosses his head back and stares up at the ceiling, wondering if he can just stay here until their fucking flight back home.


	2. Chapter 2

He stays down there pretty much all night. He's got a fucking crick in his neck like nobody's business and he's pretty sure the girl at the front desk doesn't believe he actually wants to watch all the late-night soap reruns that are on the lobby TV, but hey, she doesn't bother him, he doesn't bother her, he just sits there like a two-year-old stewing about shit out of his control.  
  
And hey, by the time it's about 4am or whatever, Michael's at least gotten to the point where he's a little sheepish about reacting so strongly. Like...Geoff is his boss. He's his friend. And that's _it_. Why the fuck does he care that he's apparently fucked every single co-worker or employee he's got except for Michael? Why the fuck does he care how he does his marriage or whatever?  
  
Is he still pissed off? Yeah, sure. Geoff was still a complete ass – that little comment about his commitment to Lindsay deserved a punch in the jaw, actually. But the way he sees it he can either hold a grudge and spend literally all his money on Red Bull all fucking day or he can catch a snooze before the morning starts and hopefully pepper little power naps through the rest of it to survive. Wouldn't be the first time he's low on sleep nor the first time he's cranky as shit. And Geoff can just deal with it.  
  
So he trudges back to the room with his hands in his pockets and his head ducked and unlocks the door as quietly as he can. Apparently no reason to. Geoff's sleeping like the fucking dead, snoring and everything. Michael just kicks off his pants and pulls off his shirt and climbs into his own bed, back resolutely turned toward him.  
  
Geoff's alarm, he discovers just a couple of hours later, is the most annoying thing he's ever experienced, all loud and piercing and so jarring he almost falls out of bed. But he doesn't. He immediately rolls back onto his side as he hears Geoff get up and start puttering around. The warm hand on his side startles him and he jerks his head around, meeting Geoff's eyes for just a moment and already feeling his jaw tighten. “C'mon, bud, we gotta get going.”  
  
And that's it. That's all he gets. He doesn't even wait for a response. Just grabs some clothes out of his bag and makes his way to the bathroom, not even giving Michael a second glance.  
  
Well. Fine. That's what he wanted, right? Yeah, sure as hell is. He's gonna roll with it.  
  
They're in the car and following Siri's directions to a little diner just a couple of miles away not long later, Geoff bringing up their itinerary in vague and still-sleepy terms, and that's all they talk about until they're actually at their booth, both drinking cups of coffee, Geoff's black as dicks and Michael's more sugar and cream than actual bean water.  
  
There's a long moment of silence where Michael's staring out the window before Geoff clears his throat. “So, uh, we gonna talk about last night or-”  
  
“Go fuck yourself,” Michael says succinctly, eyes never leaving the cars slowly driving by in morning traffic.  
  
A pause. “All right,” Geoff drawls, the words long and drawn out, “fair enough,” and then they're back to their silence.  
  
Somewhere in the middle of their pancakes and third cups of coffee each they manage to get on a neutral topic – namely some of Bruce's thoughts yesterday for the next potential AH and FH collabs – and finally Michael starts to feel some of the strain drip out of his shoulders. Maybe it's just because he's still way too fucking tired to deal with the energy to keep up that armor, maybe it's because he's more of an adult than he thinks and knows when it's time to get down to business and work, but whatever it is he's actually kind of grateful.  
  
Besides, they've still gotta fly home together and work together and attend social events together and whatever the fuck else, and there's no way in hell he can get away with not speaking to him for longer than an hour or two. He's better than that anyway.  
  
He's better than a lot of things, like kissing other people just out of curiosity, but hey, put that in the past, Michael, just keep moving forward.  
  
  
~~  
  
“Can I just clarify one thing?” Geoff asks when they're on their way home the next day, side by side in a plane, Michael having just closed his eyes five seconds beforehand to try and catch a powernap.  
  
He hesitates, then peeks out one eye, frowning. “What?”  
  
“We're just letting it go?”  
  
“Did you miss the part where I told you to go fuck yourself?” Michael asks softly, suddenly vividly aware of the other travelers around them, how they could be silently recording them from just a row over, how he always doubts he has any form of notoriety until just before some kid comes up to him in a Starbucks and gushes about how he's loved him since Rage Quit.  
  
“Yeah, but, I mean...” Geoff stammers for a moment as he waves his hand vaguely through the air. It's like he's trying to push the thoughts out. Impressive. He's not even drunk or anything and he's already struggling. “...look, you say that about a lot of shit, and then two days later when I think it's all buried it comes back up or whatever.” He locks eyes with him finally and pauses for another second before one corner of his mouth twitches into a little bit of a smirk. “Besides, I dunno if you missed it, but you're kind of an asshole.”  
  
“What, and you're not?” he asks even softer, barbed wire around his words.  
  
He chuckles – Michael can't decide if that pisses him off or makes him relax – and shakes his head. “What I mean, dude, is that you get pissed as hell about stuff, yeah, but then you just sort of stew on it for fucking weeks. I mean, shit, kid, I've watched you bring up bullshit from two _months_ ago with Gavin when he's got you cornered.”  
  
This sort of casual examination of him is making him antsy, energy burning in his palms, like he's some bud being forcibly pried open and examined under a spotlight. “What's your point?”  
  
“I just think...sometimes...” Geoff looks away for a moment, just enough for the silence to lull as he narrows his eyes and considers, and then he looks back. “...you want somebody to get in there with a crowbar and jerk out the stuff you're trying to hide,” Geoff murmurs, his words barely over a whisper, his eyes never moving from Michael's. “Because it means they give enough of a shit about you to keep you from shutting down.”  
  
Michael stares at him. His hands curl into fists.  
  
Geoff flicks his eyes over his face, filling him with that same rush as when they were in that goddamn hotel room and he was consuming every inch of his body like an invitation. It's not fucking fair, that's what it is. “So I'm asking, once and for all,” Geoff murmurs again as he leans just a little bit closer across their armrest. “Are we just gonna fucking let it go?”  
  
His heart's thudding in his chest, and he can't tell if it's the adrenaline of being high in a plane and feeling occasional gentle turbulence as they settle or if it's...something else. He licks his lips, vividly aware of Geoff's eyes following the quick motion, and leans in as well, just an inch or two between them. “Here's what I'm saying, boss, okay? Once and for all.” And he narrows his eyes. “Go. Fuck. Yourself.”  
  
There's just a moment where he swears that Geoff's eyes turn steely, just a little harder blue than they were before, but then he's chuckling, small fine wrinkles appearing at the edge of his eyes, and he shakes his head. “All right, Michael, whatever.”  
  
Is that all? It's settled, then? Michael settles back against his seat and closes his eyes again, letting out a heavy sigh and not giving a shit if Geoff hears.  
  
“...you gonna come watch me when I do?” Geoff asks softly, just a touch of roughness to his voice.  
  
The little fucker. Michael pulls out his phone and shoves his earbuds in, immediately playing the loudest music he can find on it, still somehow hearing Geoff's soft laugh through the first chords.  
  
~~  
  
“Didn't bring him home too beat up, did you, sweetie?”  
  
Michael isn't all that sure why Griffon's teasing comment for Geoff makes his ears turn red, but there it is, he can feel it, all that blood rushing straight into them. He reaches up and tugs at the edges of his beanie, making sure it's covering that faint bit of embarrassment – may be hot as hell here in Austin, but it's worth the sweat if it means nobody can see that shit.  
  
Geoff, for his part, just grins and wraps an arm around Griffon, dragging her in to press a kiss against her forehead. “Eh, you know Michael,” he says against her skin, giving one more kiss for good measure. “Resilient little fucker.”  
  
“It's the Jersey in him,” Lindsay teases, tilting her head to try to catch Michael's eye, but he can barely manage a little smile to her.  
  
It's just that kind of night, he decides. He's endlessly thankful when Lindsay begs off dinner when Griffon and Geoff invite them out – maybe she can read just how tired he is, or maybe he's showing something on his face that he doesn't realize. He doesn't know what it is. But as Lindsay drives them both home, doing more than enough talking for the both of them about Gavin and Meg and Matt and Jeremy and whoever the hell else, he catches sight of his face in the mirror and isn't even sure what the hell he's looking at. The color of his face seems off somehow. His eyes seem just a little too tired. His mouth looks a little too full. Is that him? Really?  
  
It's a strange feeling, really, being simultaneously heavy with exhaustion and restless with energy buzzing in his legs, but he deals with it as elegantly as he can, bouncing his leg on beat to the radio and finally letting his eyes fall shut ten minutes down the road. He hums softly in affirmation when it's appropriate between Lindsay's sentences, and when she finally goes quiet he just lets his mind rest.  
  
He's not happy, he finally realizes. Not like he should be, getting back to the familiarity of home with his gorgeous wife reaching over to hold his hand on the armrest between them.  
  
When they pull in Lindsay grabs the heaviest suitcase out of the trunk and heaves it easily, and Michael's too tired to protest, just looping his backpack over his shoulder and following her into their apartment. She gets the door shut and the suitcase down the hall and on the bed before she punctuates the silence with the sharp unzipping noise. "So."  
  
Michael looks at her tentatively from the doorframe, tracing the lines of her back and curves with his eyes just to feel the familiar comfort of it.  
  
"How was your trip?"  
  
He swallows, then sets his backpack down by the bedroom door. "Good. Fine. Y'know." Michael rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. "I, uh, kind of don't wanna talk about it right now."  
  
Lindsay looks over her shoulder, frowning. "That bad? Did something happen?"  
  
"No, it's just...it's stupid, okay? Like so fucking stupid that I just...y'know, like sometimes you just do some shit that you know up front is a bad idea and-" He breathes an unamused laugh, throwing his hands in the air. "God, listen to me, I just said I don't wanna talk about it and here I go."  
  
Lindsay sinks down onto the bed next to his suitcase, unpacking his dirty clothes forgotten, and fixes her eyes right on his face. He can barely let himself look at the pure sincerity in her gaze, all that love and compassion and desire to make him feel better, because then he's remembering the coolness of Geoff's eyes on the plane and the shit that he's gonna get himself into if he talks about what's heavy on his shoulders.  
  
Shit, he's really gonna tell her, isn't he?  
  
Did he even think that in any kind of universe that he _wouldn't_ tell his soulmate literally everything that's on his mind?  
  
Michael paces back and forth for a long few seconds before he rakes his fingers through his hair, over his face, and onto his hips. "...I, uh...okay, so remember when I texted you last night? About...Geoff?"  
  
She wrinkles her eyebrows, thoughts no doubt flying at a breakneck speed through that incredible mind of hers. "What, did the joke go bad?"  
  
Joke. Right. "No, it...everything went pretty much like I figured it might." He can't look at her. He just can't. He keeps his eyes on the floor and sighs long and hard. "...Okay, so, here's the thing - and can you promise not to throw shit at me when I say it?"  
  
It's a ridiculous statement and they both know it - they'd never do that - so when she chuckles a little nervously he's expecting it. "I mean, shit, who'd you kill? Am I gonna find a body somewhere in your suitcase?"  
  
"I wish."  
  
"What happened, sweetie?" she finally asks, and he can hear her scooting to the edge of the bed. "Just tell me, okay? All at once. One, two, three, go."  
  
And so he shuts his eyes and grimaces and spits it out. "It maybe wasn't a joke to me."  
  
Silence. Dead silence. Then a soft "What?"  
  
"I maybe wanted to kiss him for real. And I maybe did. And we maybe made out a little. And I maybe wanted it to go a hell of a lot further than that?"  
  
He still can't look at her, he thinks, but he forces himself to do it anyway because he's not a weak motherfucker, and Lindsay's wide eyes and open mouth is enough to make him hate himself a little more. "...are you serious?" she asks so quietly that he can barely hear it, and the knife digs into his heart like it never has before.  
  
God, he fucked up, didn't he? He didn't realize how much. It's sheer instinct to drop to his knees and grab her hands, pressing a fervent kiss against the back of one. "I'm sorry, okay? I fucking swear I am."  
  
"It's okay, I just..." They both have that bad habit, Michael realizes as he watches Lindsay speak, always immediately assuring the other that everything's all right before they can even have time to sort through it all. "...you made out with Geoff? Seriously?"  
  
He huffs and presses his eyes against the back of her hands.  
  
"Have you...wanted to do that for a while?"  
  
"I don't know," he murmurs, words muffled by her thighs. "I really don't. It was this spur of the moment thing. God, I wasn't even drunk, I don't know where the hell it came from."  
  
"I can't believe you did that," she says just as softly, just breathy enough that he thinks she might not even realize she's speaking. "I can't believe you fucking kissed somebody that's not..."  
  
_Not you,_ his thoughts provide, and he feels his entire chest open up, ripped apart at the ribs. "I'll never do it again, I promise, Linds."  
  
"But you did it in the _first_ place, you...you just..." Lindsay tugs her hands out of his grasp and he looks up at her in panic. "That text was so fucking shitty, Michael, you knew how I was gonna read it."  
  
"Hold on," he tries, "you know I didn't know, I was legitimately trying to figure out what you thought about it, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, well, you should've called me or something instead!" She slides away from him and stands up, covering her face and sucking in an audible breath. "Holy fucking shit, Michael, don't you...fuck, am I supposed to just _believe_ you're not gonna pull that shit again?"  
  
"Yes! I mean...no, I don't..." Michael flies to his feet and spreads his arms wide. "I just need you to trust me!"  
  
She whips around and looks at him with the sharpness and anger that he deserves. "Until when? Until you decide you wanna try it again? Until you get curious as shit and think about kissing somebody else?"  
  
He feels so backed into a corner that the guilt is starting to twist a little, flare up until it's hot and defensive. "Oh, like you've never thought about it."  
  
"I haven't done it, though, have I?!" she snaps.  
  
For a long moment they're silent, just staring at each other, just simmering. And then Lindsay speaks again, soft once more. "Did I do something wrong, Michael?"  
  
"What? No. Nonono, fuck no, Linds, never." He wants to take her into his arms, but he's too afraid he'll drive her off, too afraid it'll just start them yelling at each other again. "You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect, and I don't deserve you."  
  
"Then what was it? Why?"  
  
If only he had the answer to that. If only. "I don't know. I-I just...there's...just something about Geoff, I don't fucking know."  
  
She sits right down on the floor, like all the energy's drained out of her at once, and he sinks down too, watching her tentatively. "God. Does Griffon know?"  
  
"I guess?" Michael bites his bottom lip. "He...he said they...have some agreement where they can do that."  
  
"Do what? Kiss other people?"  
  
"Kiss, make out, fuck..."  
  
"Like an open relationship?"  
  
He shrugs. "I guess."  
  
The long silence makes him look down and fiddle with his pantsleg. "Is that..." Lindsay pauses, then takes in a deep breath. "Is that something you...might want?"  
  
"Absolutely not." He doesn't even hesitate. "Lindsay, you're the only woman for me. The only _person_ for me."  
  
"But you kissed him," she whispers.  
  
"I made a mistake, then." Michael finally reaches out to grab her hand again, and she lets him, lacing their fingers together. He scoots close until their knees are touching, until he feels the cold press of her toes against his. "I committed myself to you for the rest of my life the second I put that ring on your finger. And I misunderstood what your text meant. And I'm so fucking sorry for that, and I'm never gonna do that shit again because, hey, look, now I know where the boundaries are, okay?"  
  
She meets his eyes, solemn and silent, before she nods. "Yeah." She even forces a smile like the brave fucking woman that she is. "Yeah, okay."  
  
"Do you think...you can forgive me?"  
  
Lindsay lifts their hands and kisses the back of his hand now, and he feels something inside of him melt in relief. "Yeah. Sure. I forgive you, Michael. It's...I forgive you."  
  
He pulls her close, nestling her head against his chest, and closes his eyes with a heavy, shaky sigh. Yeah. Okay. It's done. And it's never gonna be an issue again.  
  
Ever.  
  
~~  
  
Maybe he should've expected it, with that illustrious end to his Sunday, but that's absolutely the start of the week from hell.  
  
It's not even that a ton of shitty things happen or whatever. It's just so fucking busy at the office, like maybe they're stuck in a backlog that none of them saw coming.  
  
~~  
  
Filming Versus on Monday, that sucks balls. He can't keep up the energy that it requires, and Michael wonders if maybe he should've just begged off, that maybe they would've been better off without him just because they wouldn't have had to carry his sad ass. He can feel Geoff and Lindsay both watching him closely when they don't have a camera on them, and it gives him such weird conflicting emotions that when they're done filming he takes an extended bathroom break where he does nothing but pace.  
  
~~  
  
Tuesday he spends a significant amount of time at his computer just responding to a huge amount of procrastinated emails. It's one of his least favorite parts of the job, but it means he gets to wear his thick headphones and blast music and not have anybody so much as look at him, and that sounds like a fan-fucking-tastic time to him. Lindsay silently puts a Red Bull on his desk when he looks like he's starting to flag, and he casts her a thankful look, especially when he catches sight of Geoff wandering toward him and sees Lindsay grab his arm, all smiles and cheer as she tugs him out of the room. She's the perfect distraction, exactly what he needs, exactly what he will never fucking deserve.  
  
~~  
  
On Wednesday, Geoff finally corners him. Michael doesn't know how long he's been watching him, but he has to have been keeping an eye on him for two days straight now, tracking his movements and habits so that when Michael's leaving the bathroom, hands still damp from washing, he feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder. "Well, hey there, Michael," Geoff says in that bright and cheery tone he always uses when he's ready to bowl people over and get shit done, "guess what? We need to talk."  
  
 It's on the tip of his tongue to tell him to go fuck himself for the millionth time in just a handful of days, but the weight of his hand is almost welcome somehow, like it's pressing the tension out of his shoulder. He lets Geoff guide him toward the empty conference room, frowning all the way. "What if I don't feel like talking?"  
  
"Sorry, buddy, you're not getting that option today." Geoff plants both hands on his shoulders and squeezes into the tight muscles just the once, just enough to make Michael suck in a sharp breath through his nose, and then he's pushing him lightly through the door and shutting it behind them.  
  
Michael frowns at him, rubbing the back of his neck as he takes a few steps backward. "And why the fuck don't I get to shut up if I want?"  
  
"'Cuz, you see, it's starting to do that thing we hate called 'impacting the videos.'" Geoff makes quotations marks with his tattooed fingers, tone still dry as sandpaper. "And we can maybe get away with that once or twice, but eventually the viewers start noticing! And believe it or not they're not all dumbasses! Somebody's gonna start asking questions, somebody's gonna make some big concerned post about you seeming 'depressed' and 'sad' lately, and then there's gonna be some huge fucking scrapbook sent to us all about how awesome you are to try to cheer you up just because you can't fucking step up and talk to me about whatever the hell's going on."  
  
He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls, looking away. "The fuck does it matter anyway?"  
  
Geoff leans into the table between them with his hands splayed across the surface. "Because, incredibly, your attitude started up right after we got back from Cali, didn't it? Huh." He wrinkles his brow. "Wonder if something really weird happened down there that might've triggered it. Shit. Wish I could think of something..."  
  
"You're an asshole."  
  
"So are you. And I fucking love it. But not like this." Geoff gestures vaguely up and down with one hand, wincing. "When you're sour like a lemon, yeah, that's fucking hilarious, but right now you're like a shot of battery acid, and it's not working, not for you, not for the videos, not for the whole damn company." He pauses. "And...if I did something to cause it...then I need you to tell me so I can make it right and we can get back on track with our content before people start sending you postcards with kittens and inspirational sayings on them."  
  
Michael's quiet for a long few seconds, pondering, debating, before he huffs and opens his mouth. "Lindsay..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"...she may not have been as cool with it as I thought."  
  
Geoff is silent.  
  
"Sunday night sucked, okay? And I just..." Even though Geoff is staying quiet it takes an eternity for Michael to look up at him. He's not expecting to see him looking so damn confused. "...I dunno. I guess I'm figuring shit out. And that's all."  
  
He sees Geoff's eyes flash down to Michael's wedding band for a second, then right back to his face. "I see."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I..." He swallows. "I'm sorry, dude, Jesus."  
  
"Yeah, well, you probably should be." Michael wanders away a few steps, turning his back to him. "Anyway, sorry to be a fucking sadsack or whatever. I'll be back to normal tomorrow."  
  
There's a long moment of silence again, where Michael is stuck between wanting Geoff to tell him that he'd fucking better be and needing him to say that it's okay, it's valid, the pain and the confusion and even the fear at the base of it all.  
  
Instead Geoff clears his throat. "...yeah, well...look, we're filming Go here in a few minutes or whatever, so just..."  
  
"I'll be there."  
  
"Cool."  
  
Michael keeps his back to the door and pretends he isn't somewhere between crestfallen and pissed as hell when he just hears it shut behind Geoff. Cool. Thanks for caring, asshole.  
  
~~  
  
When it gets to noon on Thursday, Michael can't find Lindsay, which sucks because it's her day to pick where they go for lunch so where the fuck is she anyway? He gets far enough to pulling out his phone before he remembers that no, she accidentally left hers at home because they were running late that morning, of course.  
  
At first he just circles around the building, looking everywhere he can think of that she typically frequents. Doesn't find her. Doesn't so much as find a _trace_ of her. So he settles for wandering back to the Achievement Hunter office just on the off-chance that she might be looking for him too.  
  
That's when Gavin ambushes him, of course, all grins and a tight arm around his neck that Michael immediately darts away from. "Lunch, my little Michael? You, me, and Ry?"  
  
"Maybe. I dunno. Looking for Linds."  
  
Gavin blinks. "Pretty sure Geoff took her out for an early lunch like an hour ago, actually? Maybe?"  
  
Shit. Not exactly the answer he's looking for.  
  
So he goes to lunch with Ryan and Gavin. He waits that night for Lindsay to bring up her lunch. And since she doesn't say a word about it he just lays on his back when the lights are out and stares at the ceiling and wonders why the hell he's got a storm of nerves still alive in his belly.  
  
~~  
  
On Friday, Michael decides he's done. No more worrying. No more stress. Fuck it all. That's it.  
  
He has a fucking awesome day. The energy's back, he's center stage in every video, and loving every goddamn second of the focus and the laughs.  
  
He's cheerful when Lindsay's driving them home at the end of the day, singing along with the radio and making all the lyrics super obscene on the fly and making her laugh. And it lasts until they get squarely stuck in rush hour traffic, as usual, but this time Lindsay turns down the radio and looks at him with a small smile. "So. Funny question time."  
  
"Yeah, shoot."  
  
"So what if I told you I wanted to kiss somebody else?"  
  
He's high enough on the adrenaline of the day that he just laughs and shakes his head. "Goddammit, Lindsay. Only if it's Geoff so we'll be even."  
  
She laughs, but it dies off quickly into dead silence. It stretches out so long that he looks over with a quirked brow. And the second he sees her biting her lip and looking more than a little tentative he has exactly one thought.  
  
_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay," Michael says when they're in the living room, Lindsay sitting cross-legged on the couch and Michael pacing in front of her. "I...I need you to tell me everything you guys talked about."  
  
"Seriously?" Lindsay eyes him. "I don't get a little privacy?"  
  
"Lindsay. I love you. I give you privacy all the time. But this is kind of our marriage we're talking about, and the fact that you wanna kiss...who, Geoff?"  
  
She sighs and looks down, fiddling with her wedding ring. She's silent for the longest, enough time for the air conditioner to kick on and send a chill straight through him, but when she bites her lip he stops pacing out of habit, stares at her as she forms her thoughts and opens her mouth. "I'm...look, I'm sorry I snapped about Geoff."  
  
He stares at her. "...okay?"  
  
"No, seriously, I just. I didn't listen to you. I didn't think. I was...I was fucking scared, okay?" She looks up and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I'm a really fantastic friend to everybody, Michael, but that doesn't really translate into me being a good girlfriend or wife or whatever-"  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Just the mere thought of her not being everything he's ever wanted in the world and a million things he didn't know he needed is ridiculous. He wrinkles his brow, staring straight into her, lasers burning in his eyes. "You're perfect."  
  
"A perfect friend." She snaps the words a little, her hands curling into fists as she snaps her eyes across the room, staring through the wall. "I...you know I've had some self-confidence things over the years."  
  
He does. He remembers long nights holding her close, rocking her until the tears dried just because he didn't know how the hell else to help. He remembers wanting to go back in time so he could punch every goddamn person in high school that ever made her feel like shit. But it's been at least a year since she's had a breakdown like that, since she finally started flourishing in confidence and holding her head perfectly high. She hasn't been putting on that tough girl act that she's so good at. No, she's been _living_ it. Or has he been reading it wrong? "I don't understand."  
  
"I'm a really good friend to guys. Always have been. I could be a really good friend to you. You could decide I'm just a really good fucking friend-"  
  
"You're my best friend in the whole fucking goddamn cocksucking world, but that doesn't mean you're not my wife too!"  
  
"Yeah, but what if one day I'm not?" she spits back. "What if you get bored of me? Or, God, even better, what if you just...stop being attracted to me? And start being attracted to other people?"  
  
It's starting to come together. "Like Geoff? You think I'm gonna leave you for Geoff?"  
  
"I don't know!" She throws her hands in the air. "I just...God, Michael, I was scared, is that not okay?"  
  
No, it's not okay, not when he tries so fucking hard to make her feel wanted, to make her feel like a queen. When did he fuck that up? Where did he do it? How can he fix it? Michael sinks down onto the couch beside her, but the way she draws her legs in tells him she's not ready to be touched, that she's still working through the shit in her head. "Linds." He forces himself to draw his tone back, to keep it as soft as he can manage. "I'm not just gonna turn gay one day and leave you. Jesus. Especially not for a married man."  
  
She's staring straight at the floor. "Apparently Griffon would be okay with it, since their relationship is so open."  
  
"Stop," he murmurs, trying to soothe the bite in her tone. "You know that's not what she'd want. You know she'd freak the fuck out."  
  
Lindsay's lips are thin for a long moment, but then she sighs and rubs her face, nodding behind her hands. "Yeah. God, I'm sorry."  
  
"It's fine." He cocks his head to the side so he can catch her eye when she drops her hand. "You're scared."  
  
"Yeah," she whispers.  
  
"Did talking to Geoff...make that worse or better?"  
  
She's dead silent. And then he hears the thickness in her breath when she inhales. "Geoff has been..." She lets all the air shoot out at once with a little laugh. "He's always been so sweet to you, Michael. So wonderful. Listened to everything you had to say, gave you advice. Practically begged you to join Achievement Hunter in the first place. Like, you've never had a wasted second with him. It's all just been building into this incredible friendship." And even though Michael's waiting for her to say how jealous it made her she just shakes her head. "But, you know, he's always...been just as sweet to me. Do you know that? He's maybe not as vocal about it, but he's always been in my court when I needed him, and always before I even need to look for him, and it's just fucking incredible."  
  
Michael doesn't really know what to say to that. "Yeah, I mean, he's great."  
  
"He _i_ s, Michael." She looks at him, and her eyes are damp. "And I have admired that in him for so fucking long and been so goddamn thankful for it. And I feel like I've just been waiting for him to focus all on you and forget I exist. To stop building me up too. To stop caring. And Jesus, suddenly my husband and my boss are making out, suddenly he's making the moves on him, suddenly it's time for him to just forget I fucking exist! And what the hell does he do?" She smiles, wide and a little wobbly. "The fucking second he knows he's done something to make me feel like shit, even indirectly, he comes to me and takes me out to lunch and spends an hour and a half telling me over and over again that he never wanted to hurt us. To hurt _me_."  
  
Michael stares at her. "Lindsay?"  
  
"It wasn't just that I was scared I'd lose you," she finally says, "I was scared I'd lose Geoff too."  
  
 _Oh fuck._  
  
He lifts his hands, wanting to interject, but Lindsay is still talking, barely taking a breath. "And okay, so I'm just sitting there staring at him, telling him it's okay, that _I_ was okay, that I didn't care, but he kept saying the most perfect things until I wasn't even fucking lying anymore, like?" She breathes a little laugh and wipes away the tear that escapes from her eye. "And then he just...he grabbed my hands, and he was stammering, trying to think of what he wanted to say I guess? And he just leaned forward and put his forehead on my knuckles and just lay there thinking and when he looked up do you know what he said?"  
  
Michael shakes his head.  "No, what?"  
  
"I don't even know," she whispers, "because all I could feel at that moment was the realization that I've had a thing for him for years. Just like you."  
  
He knew it. God, he knew it. But he shakes his head, trying to push down the way his heart is pounding. "I haven't had a thing-"  
  
"Don't lie, Jesus, you've been halfway up his ass since you got here."  
  
He can't lie to her. He just can't. He leans forward, stabs his elbows into his knees, and covers his mouth with his hands, staring distantly into the couch. "Holy shit."  
  
All he hears for a moment is Lindsay softly crying, but when he reaches for her she still draws back, pressing her spine into the couch arm. "Jesus Christ, Michael, what the fuck do we think we're doing?"  
  
"Hey," he says softly, "we don't have to do anything. Nothing has to change. Nothing at all."  
  
She scoffs. "Like it would anyway, I mean, Geoff might be interested in you, but me?"  
  
The mere idea that he wouldn't be is laughable. "Linds, a dude doesn't grab your hands and fucking put his head on them like he's praying or something unless he's got some base level of interest there."  
  
Lindsay meets his eyes, her own so full that it breaks his heart. "...do you think so?"  
  
There's memories flooding through his head then - Geoff grinning at Lindsay, laughing at all her terrible jokes, seeking her camera almost specifically when she's filming, only pouting a little bit when she kicked his ass time after time in Versus, and ultimately how he avoided hugging her even though his body seemed to lean toward it like he was too tentative of accepting what he so desperately wanted. "I'm dead sure."  
  
She closes her eyes as tightly as she can, letting out a long sigh. "Shit."  
  
"I'm serious, nothing has to change."  
  
She's silent.  
  
And that means something that he hadn't even begun to consider. "...unless...you want things to change?"  
  
Lindsay laughs again. She opens her eyes, and they're sparkling and playful and scared and tentative and so so beautiful. "I mean, it's not really fair that you got to make out with the guy and I didn't, right?"  
  
He isn't expecting the way his heart kicks up even faster, how just thinking about Geoff digging his fingers into her hair and kissing her as hard as he kissed him makes his very cells vibrate. "I mean...yeah, I guess you're right."  
  
She suddenly looks at him, lips curving into a little smirk. "What does that look mean?"  
  
"What look?"  
  
"You'd like it, wouldn't you? If you got to watch?"  
  
"Okay, first of all, shut up-"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Are we really gonna play that game?" he asks, more than happy to slip into the playful teasing he's so used to from her. "Because you can suck my dick and put up or shut up."  
  
"So I will." She lifts her chin. "Monday."  
  
"Holy shit, Linds," he says with a nervous chuckle of his own. "Seriously?"  
  
He sees the hesitance cross her face just for a second before she tucks it away, replaces it with that firm and confident look she wears so easily. "I think I'd rather do that...than just sit and wonder and wait. I mean, you and me both know Geoff wouldn't even dare of making a move. Not on either of us."  
  
"But what if you don't..." He can't figure out how to phrase it, has to fight until he gets the words in the right order. "What if that's...not all you want?"  
  
She stares at him, heavy and serious. "...can we talk about it if we get there?"  
  
His gut turns over, full of nerves. "Fuck. Yeah, we can do that."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Cool."  
  
He doesn't have to reach this time. Lindsay leans forward on her own accord, tipping Michael back until he's reclining and she can rest on his chest, her hair spilling over his ribs. And all he can do is hold her close and feel his heart swell and think for the billionth time just how precious she is to him and how he hopes to all hell that they're not about to screw any of that up just to figure out what the fuck's going on in their heads.  
  
~~  
  
Is it a set-up? Yeah, it sure as hell feels like one, at least. It's not that they discuss the exact plan or that they follow him around the building waiting for him to have a free minute, but the fact remains that Lindsay lingers for a long moment after they record Versus, leaning into Michael's shoulders, watching what he's editing, and when she squeezes one of his shoulders he slides his headphone off one ear and catches her eye as she tilts her head toward the door.  
  
It's Geoff sipping the last of the coffee from his cup as he stands up, not even saying a word as he no doubt heads toward the kitchen, and Lindsay and Michael meet eyes just the once before she breaks away after him. He hesitates, staring at the computer screen for a long three seconds before he shoves his headphones off.  
  
"Jesus, we're losing everybody, aren't we?" Jack says just a touch sardonically, but Michael doesn't even have it in him to quip back, too focused on the flash of Lindsay's red hair as she turns the corner, trying to move fast enough to keep up but not to draw any more attention to them.  
  
Is she really gonna do this? Is she just talking a big game? If Michael's there will she get too nervous to do anything? No, he's answering all three questions at once suddenly:  Michael's the one that builds Lindsay to incredible heights, who dares her over and over again until she makes a move just to impress him, just like he does for her every time. _Shit._  
  
Geoff doesn't even make it to the coffeepot before Lindsay loops her arm with his and starts walking him backward. He blinks a few times, looking down at her with a wrinkled brow. "Are we going on a trip?" he asks.  
  
"Something like that," she replies.  
  
Michael catches up, touches a hand to her shoulder and steers her toward the exact same office Geoff cornered him in last week. "You scared, Geoff?"  
  
He actually looks like he is a little bit, like he's trying not to stumble, and he visibly swallows. "Am I, uh. Gonna get shanked, or...?"  
  
"Or?" Michael asks.  
  
"Or," Lindsay decides. "We'll go with or."  
  
"Fuck," Geoff whispers.  
  
They're drawing eyes. They're not being inconspicuous at all. But there isn't a camera behind them dutifully carried by Gavin or Ryan, and so they all stay at bay, just watching curiously, probably spurred by the sour look Michael puts on his face.  
  
It suits him just fine.  
  
Once they're inside the office Michael locks the door and drops the shade and plants a hand on Geoff's chest, firmly guiding him out of Lindsay's grip and into the corner where he couldn't be seen even if somebody kicked the door down. "So some new events have come to light, Geoffrey."  
  
"Oh really?" he asks, voice cracking. "That why it looks like I'm gonna die today?"  
  
"Oh Geoff," Lindsay sing-songs cheerfully, "we're not gonna kill you. You have that little faith in us?"  
  
He still hasn't begun to figure it out. He locks eyes with Michael intentionally, reaching to touch his arm where he's still got him pinned into the wall. "Michael, listen, I took Lindsay out to lunch, and we talked, and-"  
  
"I know what you talked about," Michael says softly. "You think there's anything my wife and I don't talk about when we finally start to figure it out?"  
  
Geoff flicks his eyes back and forth between Lindsay a few times. It's the first time Michael's seen him so devoid of bravado. He just looks mildly horrified. And it finally occurs to Michael just how upset Geoff truly is about possibly putting a rift in his and Lindsay's marriage. Sure, he was an asshole in L.A., but that was for a reason, wasn't it? When he thought Lindsay was cool with it and when Michael threw a hissy fit? And yet the second it came out that things weren't kosher? Immediate shift in the attitude.  
  
And maybe it makes a little more sense why Geoff went to Lindsay with the soft, almost desperate apologies and explanations while he treated Michael with iron gloves. And maybe Michael's...more okay with that than he thought.  
  
Maybe Lindsay deserves every sweet thing she can have, regardless of the big game she talks. Michael doesn't need it, does he?  
  
Lindsay moves forward before he can pursue that thought, grabs Michael by the back of his shirt, and pulls him away. She situates herself right in front of Geoff, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. "Turns out I've got a problem, Geoff."  
  
He flicks his eyes over her face, brow furrowed, concern knit into his gaze. "What's that?"  
  
"I don't think it's fair that you got to kiss my husband-"  
  
Geoff closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Lindsay, I thought I-"  
  
"- but that you didn't let me have a chance."  
  
Michael can pinpoint the exact moment that Lindsay's words sink in, and it's right when Geoff's eyes fly open, when he stares at her with so many endless questions deep within them. "...to..." He winces, like he already knows what he's saying is ridiculous. "...kiss your...husband?"  
  
She grins, plants her red-nailed hand square on his chest, even lets her thumb rub against the soft texture of Geoff's t-shirt, and Geoff stands a little taller, eyes sweeping over every curve of her face, breath catching in his chest. "Geoff," she whispers, nose wrinkling cutely. "You wanna shut up a minute?"  
  
He gapes at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I. Can try?"  
  
"Sweet." She grabs a handful of his shirt and comes up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.  
  
Geoff doesn't close his eyes even as Lindsay works her lips stubbornly against his. He just stares at Michael, searching for...what? Agreement? A punch to the face when he stops being on guard for it? What? Michael huffs and rolls his eyes. "Fuck, at least give her a decent kiss, Geoff, Christ, you're making me look bad after I bragged on you."  
  
That's all it takes. Geoff snaps his arms forward and knits his fingers together behind Lindsay's back, right under the strap of her bra, and she hums as he closes his eyes and tilts his head to kiss her all the deeper. And they...God, they look good together, they really do. There's a flush spreading down the back of Lindsay's neck, and the darkness of Geoff's tattoos spring out against the bright red of her t-shirt, and the soft wet sounds punctuated by their sighs are music to his ears.  
  
And somehow, as Michael feels himself pulled forward, he knows this isn't gonna end nearly as fucking simple as he thought it might be.  
  
He touches a hand to the small of Lindsay's back and pushes her forward just an inch, just enough to hear Geoff groan when she's flush against him. "C'mon, babe," he murmurs, and on cue she reaches up, laces her fingers through Geoff's fine hair, twisting the strands in every direction. Michael can't resist pressing two warm kisses to the top of her vertebrae, not when he knows how sensitive her neck is. He only regrets it a little when she breaks her kiss to gasp, when Geoff tilts his head with a shiver of his own to press their foreheads together.  
  
"Okay," Geoff whispers. Lindsay's hands are shaking, but Geoff's arms are still, firm, secure, keeping her contained just like Michael's steadying hand on her back. "...okay...shit..."  
  
"Yeah," Lindsay breaths with a chuckle. "Yeah. Wow."  
  
"What...the fuck are we doing?" Geoff asks. He's laughing too, quiet and hesitant, one of his eyes meeting Michael's with the other hidden against Lindsay's forehead.  
  
Michael just drinks him in for a moment, the tentative crooked smile and the warmth in his eyes. "We, uh. We were hoping you'd tell _us_ that."


End file.
